


Lines on the Page

by Avelera



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Books, M/M, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4243446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelera/pseuds/Avelera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Thrainsson, owner and chief editor of Oakenshield Press, has just been recommended the manuscript of aspiring author Bilbo Baggins by the renowned agent and talent-scout Dr. Gandalf Grey.<br/>But there's absolutely no way such a fussy little man could have written anything that would meet Thorin's exacting standards, much less impress him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines on the Page

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indigoire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigoire/gifts).



> Based on the prompt by Indigoire, "#12 for the writing prompt thing, because that is so them. Bilbo the eccentric writer and Thorin the overbearing/intimidating editor (who is a secret softie)."
> 
> This is probably the closest I've ever come to true modern AU with no connections to Middle Earth and the Quest whatsoever, and even then I tried to include some elements. I envision this as a one-shot, but I do hope you all enjoy!

Dammit, it was good, it was actually extremely good, Thorin thought, gnawing at the end of his pencil as he studiously avoided Mr. Baggins’ smug gaze. And it must have been smug, the prose was good and this short bastard knew it. Utterly unprofessional to show up at an editor’s office unannounced, after previously turning down their extremely generous offer of a contract at the dinner party. Dr. Grey, the little man’s agent, had insisted Bilbo Baggins was the best writer he had ever encountered, but Thorin had spent enough years in this unforgiving industry to know that even respected agents would say anything to get their authors published.

“I’ll read it over the weekend,” Thorin announced, just as he turned the page and saw he had reached the end of the first chapter. Damn the man, he hadn’t even known he was reading so fast. This hadn’t happened in years, much less right in front of the author in question. This was going to turn negotiations into a nightmare. Baggins seemed the type to throw a fit if his promising first chapters turned to drivel halfway through and Thorin told him so. He had nearly passed out at the mention of liabilities, standard boilerplate legal jargon, at the dinner party thrown at his own home at the pitch session for _his own book_ , and then had the gall to act as if he didn’t understand why Thorin had brought the rest of the publishing company with him!

“I would like that, I would like very much to hear your thoughts on the manuscript, Mr. Oakenshield,” Baggins said, his tone genial and unquestionably polite. It might have even helped smooth Thorin’s opinion of him, if not for the fact that “Oakenshield” was not actually his last name. Oakenshield Press was property of Thorin Thrainsson, as two minutes of research would have revealed. Thorin ground his teeth together, eying the letterhead of chapter two in the hopes that it would reveal a flaw that would allow him to toss Mr. Baggins out of his office then and there.

“Don’t call us, we’ll call you,” Thorin growled absently, and only looked up when Mr. Baggins did not move. Raising an eyebrow, Thorin waved to the door. Only then did the author take the hint with a startled rabbit-like jump, and leave.

“Bilbo Baggins, what kind of name is that?” Thorin looked up, as in the author’s wake his nephew Fíli was leaning against the door to his office. Indeed, the rest of the company was peering in, no doubt curious over the strange meeting between their boss and the author all had thought a lost cause for the struggling publishing house.

“One that may save us, or may waste my weekend,” Thorin said, and closed the book. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

* * *

It was Saturday evening when Thorin looked up in a daze at the clock beside his bed, and realized that he had not left except for the barest necessities since he woke up that morning. Bilbo Baggins’ book,  There and Back Again hung limp in his hand. Thorin was starving, parched, and exhausted, but none of that mattered because the book was _over_ and life suddenly dull, colorless and empty without the story that had so consumed it.

Thorin stumbled to his kitchen, mechanically making himself a sandwich to stave off the worst of the hunger while his mind whirled. The characters, the plot, the tragedy of the ending still hung in his heart like a stone. It robbed the strength from his limbs, and the focus from his eyes. He was transported, hollowed out and left only a shell, and it was all because of that _damn_ book.

It would save them. It would actually save Oakenshield Press from their long-expected bankruptcy. If the public had even the slightest _hint_ of taste, Bilbo Baggins’ book would dominate the shelves for a century to come. There would be film rights, spin-offs, a series if Thorin could wrangle it, if the author didn’t put his foot down that it was a standalone.

Thorin jerked at a shock of pain from his hand, and saw that he had nearly cut off his own thumb in the process of slicing the bread. He found he could only stare at the droplet of blood, mind spinning with how Baggins had described the blood in the last chapter, _steaming on the snow_. It was a good minute before it occurred to Thorin that he risked bleeding out all over his meal and with a yelp he stuck the cut to his lips, idly sucking at it as he considered what to do next.  

* * *

“What to do next” turned out to be setting up a meeting, one away from the prying eyes of the rest of the company. The Starbucks across the street from Oakenshield Press served well enough, and provided a decent cover for Thorin’s absence that Monday morning. He intended to stake out a table in the corner, but found Bilbo already there, his fingers fluttering nervously around a mug of tea. At the sight of Thorin he leapt to his feet and extended his hand.

“Mr. Thrainsson! So terribly sorry about last time, you must understand that I was completely uninformed by Gandalf about any of this. He never once mentioned the dinner party, and I had no opportunity to research your publishing house before coming by. So you truly must forgive me for the mistake with the names. You see, this book is really something of a personal project of mine, I’m not even sure how Gandalf knew of its existence! So I do hope I haven’t taken up too much more of your valuable time with my little hobby. I’m sure you understand…”

Thorin sat down heavily across from Bilbo, ignoring the extended hand and effectively silencing the author’s tirade. Bilbo’s widened, perhaps in response to Thorin’s stern expression, and he too took his seat. 

Thorin studied Bilbo with new eyes, ones now overlaid with all he had read, all that lay within this remarkable man’s mind. Adventure and pathos, twisting plots and intricate layers of meaning. The fussiness Thorin had so disdained at their first meeting was no longer an irritation, but rather seemed to reflect an organized and caring individual. The occasional distant looks and occasional lack of focus could well be Mr. Baggins ruminating on some great tale not yet brought into the world. Thorin coughed as he caught himself staring, and he forced his gaze down, pushing  There and Back Again out in front of him.  

“It’s very good,” Thorin said gruffly. “Mr. Baggins, as the leader of Oakenshield Press, I would like to extend to you a formal offer for a contract. Any terms you like that are mine to give. We must have this book.”

“Oh, oh! You want to buy it?” Bilbo said, eyes widening as he looked between Thorin and the manuscript. A flush stained his apple cheeks.

“”Want” is a mild word, Mr. Baggins. We _must_ have it,” Thorin insisted, and Bilbo’s blush deepened.

“I, well, that is, I’m afraid it’s not for sale!” Bilbo said. “I’d dearly love to publish of course, it’s really just a little something I put together, not of any note at all. I mean, I’ve barely polished it, the plot is a mess, the characters wildly inconsistent… You must understand, I couldn’t bear the shame!”

“If this is meant to be the opening of negotiations, then I accept,” said Thorin as the other man dithered. “Whatever your terms, I accept.”

At this, Bilbo stilled, taking a deep breath that Thorin absolutely did not track with his eyes, studying Mr. Baggins as if merely looking at him could return Thorin to the world of that remarkable novel.

“Coffee?” Bilbo said after a long moment, causing Thorin to start. “I’m not sure how else to say this, but you are the first reader the book has ever had. I’m not sure I want to sell just yet, but I would value your insight into what I can do to improve it and perhaps… perhaps we could see each other again, without the business?”

Thorin stilled, a strange rush racing through his veins, a lightness of being. All at once he was reminded of where this journey had begun all those years before: when books had been a joy rather than a chore. When the idea of bringing a manuscript to its final, gleaming form was a dream, before he had confronted the reality of slogging through thousands of words of empty cliches and hopeless drivel. When the idea of being an editor had been visions of spending long afternoons in hushed conversation with authors over their prose as he learned the deepest secrets of their craft. All gone in the day-to-day slog of operating a publishing house for profit, poring over the endless array of self-help nonsense and empty memoir that the public demanded.

“I prefer tea,” Thorin said, wondering at himself, wondering at what he was doing. “But I would not be… averse to such an arrangement.”

Bilbo beamed. “Capital! We can start this weekend, I really must say I’m delighted to hear you enjoyed it, though I can’t imagine it measures up to some of the other great works that have fallen across your desk.”

“Not at all,” Thorin said quietly. “Mr. Baggins, I don’t think you appreciate the treasure you have given me, and I would like nothing better than to fix that.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed please consider leaving a comment, it does so make all the work worth while, and I do so love hearing from my readers!
> 
> You can also find me over on Tumblr! (URL: Avelera)


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